


Try again

by Lomeniel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Is A Bit Of An Ass, F/M, Heartbreak, monster entrails
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-13 05:32:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18934471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lomeniel/pseuds/Lomeniel
Summary: Dean left the reader ten months ago, and immediately regretted his decision. But she is nowhere to be found, and he's starting to lose hope... until his phone rings.





	Try again

**Author's Note:**

> Request from tumblr: Lovely to see you back gorgeous! OK, I want to do the prompt thing. I've been trying to not think too hard. :| I'm going to give you things to use however you like, with Dean. In the same story as Dean, I mean. A haha. A pen; cobalt blue; January; and someone has to say "Lower". Obscure as fuck, I know. Well, buh-byeee *skips away*

Dean frowned. He hadn’t seen or heard from you since January – when he so ungraciously told you to get lost. He didn’t know why he’d – yeah, he did, and it drove him mad. Everything would be easier that way. At least that was what he’d convinced himself, but now he knew better. It was pain – pure, excruciating agony, being away from you like that, but once he’d realised what an idiot he’d been, you were nowhere to be found.

It was like you were dissolved into thin air. First place he’d gone to look was the old motel he’d left you in. It was a long shot, but he had to start somewhere. Of course you weren’t there. And you were good at covering your tracks, but he knew you – and he wanted you back.

That’s why it came as a total shock when your name flashed on his phone, the familiar guitar riff drawing a smile despite the fact that he no longer could listen to the song without his stomach sinking through the floor.

“H-hello?” He answered the phone hesitantly, unsure whether or not it really was you on the other end.

“Dean!” Your voice was like gold in his ears, but somewhere in the back of his head a small voice screamed that something was off about it. He decided to play along for now and figure out what it was along the way.

“Y/N,” he breathed, trying his best to keep ten months of agony and longing from seeping into his own voice.

“Dean, I need you!”

Shit. Of all the things you could have said, this was the last thing he expected. Dreamt of, yes, but never really thought… “Y/N, what’s going on?” He had to make sure it didn’t just happen inside his head. 

There was a short, but poignant pause on the other side. Then you muttered: “I’m in trouble. I need you.”

Dean was already on his feet with his jacket in his hand, searching for his car keys before grabbing his boots. Holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder, he struggled to pull them on, hopping around on one foot. “I’ll be there,” he said, trying to convey all the regret from the last year into the phone. “Just gimme an address.”

There was a muffled cry, then high-pitched whimpering. 

Working even harder, he pulled the shoelace so hard it snapped, and he cursed silently. 

“Just come get me,” you sobbed. 

The sound of you so scared and hurt broke his heart in even smaller pieces. He never should have left you in the first place. “I will, sweetheart,” he said in his most soothing voice, picking up a pen from the table. There was no paper in sight. “But I need you to tell me where you are.”

“Just south of McAlester, Oklahoma. The old farm off of Frink Road.” Suddenly you sounded hesitant, as is you were regretting calling him. 

Dean hastily scribbled your direction on his hand. “We’re on our way,” he replied and picked up his ready packed duffle bag. Thank god they were already leaving this godforsaken dump anyway. He’d soon be with you, and he would drive all night if he had to.

“Y/N…” he began, intending to apologise for… everything, but the line was cut off. The beeps coming from his phone rang ominously in his ear.

“Sammy, get your ass in gear. We’re leaving. Now!” Three sharp raps on the bathroom door.

Sam poked his head through the opening with his mouth full of foaming toothpaste. “Wha – “ Catching Dean’s murderous glare, he ducked back in, spat, then gargled, before emerging again. “Where’s the fire?”

“Y/N called,” Dean answered through gritted teeth.

“Shit!”

“Yeah. So get your crap and get in the car.”

With a sarcastic smile and eyes that told Dean exactly how big of an idiot he’d been, Sam continued: “It must really be an emergency if she actually called you. What did she say?” 

Swallowing the urge to argue and smack his little brother’s righteous grin off his face – mostly because fighting would take too much time, but also because Dean knew that Sam was right – he nodded and allowed himself one sardonic glare before busying himself with his jacket. “Didn’t say much. Just that she’s in trouble. 

And she’s not too far away,” he added, checking the address on his hand. “So come on. Let’s go.” He tapped impatiently with his foot, because he knew it annoyed Sam. Small victories.

“Weird,” Sam replied, ignoring Dean’s attempt to rile him up. It was just the adrenaline in Dean’s body trying to pick a fight. He wasn’t even sure if Dean was aware of it. “Y/N usually explains what… Hm, you sure it was really her?”

“What do you take me for? Jesus, Sam, I know my Y/N –“ He slammed his mouth shut. You weren’t his Y/N any more.

Holding up his hands in a peace offering, Sam nodded towards the door. “Okay, okay. Let’s go,” he said with sympathy in his voice. If he was lucky, he would get his brother back soon. Almost a whole year of sulking was starting to take its toll.

 

The fields rushed past the window as Dean sped through town after small town. He was going at least twice as fast as he should have, but Sam couldn’t bring himself to remind him to take it slow. There was a dark sort of determination to his brother he hadn’t seen in a long time, and he knew that no good would come from saying anything.

Outside, the sky was darkening, turning a cool shade of cobalt blue. Almost ten hours had passed since the phone call, and they had heard nothing more. They were getting closer, and Dean was getting antsy in his seat. What if she was seriously hurt? What if… she was dead? Would he be able to live with that guilt weighing down his shoulders?

“Relax,” Sam said, putting his hand on Dean’s arm. “She’ll be fine. Y/N always lands on her feet.”

“Yeah, but what if –“

Sam shook his head. “No use in what ifs. We’ll be there in a few, then we’ll see –“

Dean gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turned bright white, and growled. “I swear to whatever god is listening: if anyone so much as laid a hand on her…” He never finished his threat, because the farm came into view, and he turned off the road, parking the impala in the darkness behind a row of trees. 

He was out of the car and fetched his gun and a machete for good measure and marched across the road before Sam even got two feet on the ground. “Hey, wait up,” he whisper-shouted, jogging after Dean. “Take it easy, brother. We don’t know what we’re dealing with. Let’s not barge in there and make everything worse.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but he slowed down too. “Fine. What do you suggest, Professor Mastermind?”

“I don’t know,” Sam replied with a snort and a shake of his head, “but let’s at least take the time to look around.”

 

The farm was dark. No lamps on outside, and the air was filled with a pressing silence. In the back of Dean’s head the same feeling as before, that something was off, woke, and he took a quick peek in a window. It was a kitchen, and it was empty. Not even a trace of being lived in; at least not that he could see in the faint light from the shining moon.

Sam tried the door on the right. It swung open with a soft creak, and Dean gestured for Sam to stand back, pointing his gun around the corner. Inside it was warm and stuffy. Like the house had been sealed for months. But there was a small sound coming from somewhere – a thumping, or maybe it was just the pulse in Dean’s ears. He crept along the wall, keeping his steps light in case the floor was loud, Sam on his tail.

Across the hall they saw a tiny, flickering light. There’s a shadow moving back and forth, and two voices whispering together, but it’s impossible to make out what they’re saying.

The Winchesters moved silently across to the door, like the ghosts they sometimes hunted, and Dean took a quick glance before retreating, almost knocking Sam over. He held up two fingers and then pointed to the room. Sam tilted his head in a silent question. What kind of monsters? Dean shrugged. There was no visible signs, to his eyes they looked like ordinary humans. But then he heard their voices and he knew they weren’t.

“Lower your voice,” one of them rasped, the edge of the sound prickling like static coming from an old TV. “Didn’t you hear the door? They’re here.”

The second man – creature? – grumbled, and huffed in response.

“See? I told you, they’d be here if she called.” In a horrifying twist, its voice transformed into your lovely tone. “Please, Dean, I need you.” It giggled. “Imagine, dude, we’re going to be the ones. The ones who killed the Winchesters. Boss ain’t got nothing on us now.”

The hairs on Dean’s neck rose in disgust. He’d been tricked, and they had dared to use you to lure him into their trap. Baring his teeth, he sucked in a breath and motioned for Sam to follow him. Whatever these things were, they were gonna regret messing with him.

The creatures didn’t notice them immediately when they stepped into the room, and just as he was about to pull the trigger, a movement caught his eyes, and he gasped loudly. You were there. Bloodied and bruised, but very much alive, and the sight made his stomach spin. You were stumbling across the floor, carrying something heavy, and the only reason he didn’t run to your side was that Sam held him back. 

“Y/N!” Dean blurted out, causing your head to snap up, fixing your eyes on him, and lose sight of the creatures. They heard him, of course, and sprung into action. Fast as lightning, one of them leapt over the floor and grabbed you by the hair, forcing you to your knees, while the other one vaulted over Sam, gracing him with long claws.

With a pained groan, you twisted in the creature’s grip and swung your heel upwards, catching it in the temple, sending it flying into a bookshelf.

A shot rang through the room and the one who attacked Sam cried out in pain, but it got back on its feet and stalked towards Dean, whose gun was still smoking.

“Gotta take their heads off,” you grunted, wrapping whatever you were carrying around the creature’s neck and tightening with more force Dean thought was possible. The head suddenly burst off with a loud pop, and a thick green and yellow liquid sprayed over you like a fountain.

“Dean!” Sam yelled, kicking the remaining creature hard in the chest. It stumbled backwards, just in range of Dean’s machete, and he swung it, easily separating the head and body. A similar spray washed over him, and evaporated, leaving a dried coat of monster entrails on his face. But he didn’t particularly notice, because you were supporting yourself on a table, wiping your face free of goo, and the way the candlelight danced in your hair made it look like the glittering ocean at night.

Sam brought him out of his reverie. “What the hell was that? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Mimics,” you replied with a shrug. “Sorta like shapeshifters. As far as I can tell, they lure unsuspecting victims by mimicking the voices of loved ones, then feed off their brainwaves or something. Been tracking them for a while, and I was just about to finish them off when one of them caught scent of me. Been locked up for a few days trying to come up with a good plan.”

You took a few uncertain steps and wrapped your arms around Sam’s waist. “It’s good to see you, Sasquatch,” you mutter, inhaling the familiar scent of family and safety. Inside you, every emotion battled to float to the surface at once. It was hard to breathe properly and ignore the other Winchester simultaneously.

“I’ve missed you,” Sam said and kissed the top of your head. “And Dean has too.”

His words made you look up, then over at his brother – your once lover – who stood stiffly waiting his turn, and when Sam let go, he swooped in and gathered you up into a bone-crushing hug. There was so much you wanted to say then, but you couldn’t find a single word to fit in your mouth.

“You’re okay,” Dean mumbled into your hair, more to himself than to you, and you nod, wanting nothing more than to go back to the beginning of the year when everything was alright, and you had no idea of the suffering to come. 

Dean let you go and stepped away, leaving the two of you in an awkward stance just looking at each other. 

Wrapping your arms around yourself, you turned slightly so you didn’t have to look him in the face. Instead your eyes caught Sam’s, who seemed to encourage you to turn back to Dean.

You bit your lip and glanced over to Dean, who looked like he had a million words just waiting to burst from his lips. But instead, he just repeated himself: “You’re okay,” like it was a miracle and a marvel to see you on your feet.

A sour taste rose from your stomach. Did he really think so little of you? “Of course I’m okay,” you snarled, to the obvious surprise of Dean, but you didn’t let that distract you. Instead you continued: “I’ve been in this life even longer than you, remember? I know how to take care of myself –“

“Well, evidently not,” Dean muttered, flicking his eyes over the dead bodies oozing on the floor.

“What?” Your voice was dripping with ice cold calm, and Sam took a step backwards. You were going to eviscerate his brother.

Dean didn’t seem to notice. “Didn’t look like you were doing too good back there,” he said, pointing towards the dark room. “Looks like we got here just in time –“

“I had everything under fucking control,” you spat, eyes narrowing from his nerve. “You were the one who gave me away. If you hadn’t stumbled in like a drunk bison, and then proceeded to yell my name, I’d have the mimics strung up and still had time to eat a midnight snack back at the casino.” Shaking your head, you practically growled. “Goddamn famous Winchesters always wanted by every monster out there. Just… just leave me alone.”

Snatching a sweater from the chair, you stomped towards the door and the chill outside air, ready to forget about Dean and his stupid, gorgeous face – again.

In the blink of an eye, he was by your side, grabbing your wrist and blocking your exit. “Don’t leave,” he pleaded, those sad eyes almost breaking your resolve to go back into hiding.

“Don’t le… Really, Dean? Now you want to talk? What happened to wanting me gone and out of your hair, huh? I was only a liability – a, a burden anyway. I’m just doing what you wanted. Let me go!” You twisted free from his grip and stood back with your arms crossed over your chest.

His eyes widened, and he swallowed hard. “Jesus, no, Y/N… how could you think –“ 

Flinging your arms out, you set a pair of cold eyes in him. “Then WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO THINK, DEAN?” You didn’t mean to yell, but there was a lot of anger rushing out through your mouth. “You told me to fuck off, then you left and took every sense of belonging and family with you, leaving me alone again. I HAD NOTHING, DEAN. NOTHING! Then you came along, offering me the world, and I thought I finally found somewhere… someone… and then…” Shutting up before your voice cracked, you pinched the bridge of your nose trying to force the tears back by sheer willpower.

Dean’s eyes glistened, and he sniffed. Or maybe you imagined it. You weren’t sure any more. But he put his hands on your upper arms and squeezed. “I’m so sorry,” he breathed, and it sounded sincere. “I’m sorry,” he said again, this time a little louder. “I was an idiot. Thought it would… that it would be easier, that I protected you by leaving, but I was wrong. As usual. Please. Just don’t leave. I don’t care if you don’t love me any more, I just want to be with you – “

Sam looked from Dean to you and then back. He’d never heard him sound so vulnerable, and he hoped you’d forgive him, for selfish reasons, he thought with a brief grimace; he liked you, but even more, he liked what you did to his brother. And he was so ready to have his little family complete again. 

Deciding to not interfere, he slowly backed out of the room. There was a lot of cleaning up to do. He might as well get going, and with a last glance at the two of you over his shoulder, he went in search of something to dig a grave with.

Noticing vaguely that you were alone with Dean, you allowed yourself to lower your defences. “You broke my heart, Dean. I loved you. I… love you, and I don’t think I’ll survive another… another…” Clearing your throat, your squared your shoulders and lifted your head. “I’m not some doll you can discard when you’re done.”

“I know,” he said, looking into your eyes, letting go of your arms. “And I won’t stop you if you really want to leave. But…” His eyes brimmed over, and tears streamed down his face. “I want you to know that I still love you. That I’ll always love you. If you ever need me, just call. As long as there’s a breath left in me I’ll jump in the car and drive to you. Wherever you are. I…” His voice broke, and his shoulders slumped forward. Looking at his boots, he fiddled with his left thumb.

After a few long seconds’ silence, he looked up, almost expecting you to be gone, but now, given the choice, you found that you couldn’t. You were still there. Still standing in front on the man you would give your soul to save. 

“How do I know I can trust you?” you asked. The words punched you in the chest like a boxer going for knock out. 

“I… I don’t know how to… convince you,” Dean began, speaking softly, as if he’d just found his voice after a long time of illness. “Give me a chance to, to prove it to you,” he added, wincing from the horribly cliché scene, and he hesitantly took your hand. “Please.” Gone was the familiar cockiness in his eyes, there were no traces of confidence in his face. Only sorrow, and a faint trace of hope. 

You closed your eyes and breathed in his scent. This was what you had been dreaming of: a second chance. Weaving your fingers into his, you opened your eyes again and blinked away the tears that clung to your lashes. When you leaned towards him, Dean immediately opened his arms so you could rest your head on his chest. Feeling the weight of the world lift from your shoulders, you whispered into his jacket: “Let’s try again.”


End file.
